Be A Lion, Not A Mouse

I have no courage.

I sit here, alone with my thoughts, wondering if dying in my sleep is all it's cracked up to be. Like, how long would it take for anyone to discover my rotting corpse. Where would I be. How long would it take before someone noticed I wasn't around. It's all to much to bear and I'm consumed with the amount of work that people would have to go through to complete the tasks of finishing up my story. Boxing up my words and putting them away, never to be seen again. I'm afraid. I haven't felt love for so long that it is almost as consuming as death. And I don't mean love like familial love, as limited as that can be from the few that are able to provide the kind of love that they're afforded.... no, actual romantic love. The kind of love that makes hopeless romantics, like my twenty-something self, pine for lovers who showed their true colors after my love had long been spent. I have the cares. I have the like a lots. You're a pretty cool guy guys and the elusive straight boy who craves a form or two of male intimacy without being able to commit to actual intimacy. I'm afraid of trying to stand up for myself and demand that bullies treat me better. The passive aggressive allies who treat my sex and treat my gender and treat my sexuality and treat my identity as if it were a stage prop. Something that exists, but never to be seen, then eventually be taken down to be repurposed to benefit others. I understand the complexities and the nuances of parenting myself and yet I'm still terrified to turn my security into chaos. To grow. To begin healing. To understand what it's like to yet again start from the bottom and work my way back to less than mediocre. The pain, masked and bandaged, egging me on to the point of constant exhaustion. To prove that past grievances and transgressions didn't stop me from trying. Even though I'm afraid and lack courage. I suppose I'm not the only one, but it feels like I am. An infinity chasm of neverending feelings that drown me in darkness and sorrow. I want to point at people and ask them if they see the signs. Do they recognize the symptoms of someone who needs to be needed. Someone who wants to be validated. Praised for being a survivor. There are stories that are tougher than mine. With heros who managed to beat the odds. And I wish that I could be like one of them. 

If only I could will myself to do so.